A Matter of Justice
by sentinel28
Summary: Three people left who vote guilty. Now Sheila has to convince a former enemy and now best friend that she's right...Senefa Malthus.
1. Judge

**A MATTER OF JUSTICE**

_An Adaptation of _12 Angry Men_ for the Battletech Universe_

_By Sentinel 28A_

_Original Story by Reginald Rose_

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: I had actually written this story about three years ago, for fun, but I didn't save it. I thought it was one of my better stories—even if I didn't actually write most of the dialogue—so I'm rewriting it with a few changes to make it, hopefully, even better. Hopefully, it'll be a short and sweet Christmas present._

_Basically, I'm rewriting (reimagining?) the classic play _12 Angry Men_ by Reginald Rose for Battletech, and specifically my own characters. Since the play of _12 Angry Men_ can't really delve into the thought processes of the jurors, nor can the various (and superb) movies of the play, this is kind of an interesting way to look at this. _

_Moreover, as TVTropes has pointed out, the situation in _12 Angry Men_ is actually unlawful: jurors only decide innocence and guilt, not the evidence. So I've moved this to a "court of inquiry" instead. (Beats me if this reflects decent jurisprudence or current Uniform Code of Military Justice rules; I'm just making it up as I go along, and besides, the Sentinels are a mercenary unit, so they may do things differently!)_

_I haven't forgotten _Choosers of the Slain _(in fact, I should have another chapter up after Christmas, or possibly sooner) or _Down the Well _(that one's taking awhile to come together, but I'm starting to warm up to it again). This is just one of those things that my muse has been bugging me over, so here we go._

_Those of you who are familiar with the original work, try and guess which juror is which. The hero, Juror Eight, should be pretty easy—but there's more than one hero, and more than one villain. Several of these characters have already shown up in the _Snowbird Saga,_ but a few of them are new._

_And yes, this is a Battletech/MechWarrior story with no 'Mech combat. Sometimes the most dangerous battles are ones fought with no weapons._

* * *

_Sentinel Headquarters Virentofta, Sancrist_

_Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

_26 June 3060_

_5:00 PM Terran Standard Time_

The guard opened the door into a chamber that was stark and remarkably drab. The room's only furnishings were a long, wooden conference table, a single endstand next to the bathroom door, and twelve upholstered chairs. The walls had been freshly painted, but were a single shade of government-issue gray. One wall was taken up with a window that looked over the manicured lawn of the University of Virentofta's Oval. The Sentinels had made their headquarters here, since a college provided all the amenities and necessities such a nerve center would need; the students and professors there alternately worked around, welcomed, or ignored the mercenaries. It had been four years since the Sentinels had come to this world.

The guard allowed a private to come in, who quickly set down a pitcher of juice and a few plastic glasses and departed. Behind the private came twelve people—six men, six women—and the guard counted each of them in silently. Her presence did little to comfort the twelve: the guard, wearing the immaculate uniform of the Sentinels Light Infantry, the same color as the walls, wore a pistol in a tooled holster on one hip and a submachinegun slung over one shoulder. The SLI took their job very seriously. They couldn't afford not to. Satisfied with the count, the soldier came to attention. "Very well, sirs and madames. It looks like everyone is here. If you need anything, I'll be right outside the door. Just knock." She saluted, which was returned by four of the people in the room half-heartedly, and shut the door. There were a few muffled beeps, and the door locked itself with a thump.

"I never knew they locked the door," one man remarked as he took a seat.

"Of course they lock the door," answered an older man, who then blew his nose into a hankerchief loudly. "What did you think they did? We're in seclusion." He glared at the other man, obviously expecting an answer.

The other man shrugged and looked away. "I don't know. It just never occurred to me."

Silence descended on the group. Almost all of them knew each other to one extent or another; the Sentinels might be two regiments of fighting men and women—MechWarriors, tankers, infantry, fighter pilots, techs, and so on—but it still mustered under two thousand people. There were two exceptions to this rule, but the room was filled with the gray duty uniforms of the Sentinels Regimental Combined Arms Team.

One of the exceptions wore the white-with-red-trim dress uniform of the Sentinels' current employer, the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery. Yuri Deunan was here because she was the ranking liasion officer for the regiment; she wore the apple-green bars of a _Tai-sa_, a full Colonel. She did not really want to be here, didn't know why she was even in the room, but nonetheless she took her job very seriously. She reached across the table, took a notepad and tore off a page, then methodically began tearing that page to pieces as she sat.

The other was Samuel Johnson, who was both bored and afraid. He alone did not wear a uniform; instead, he wore an expensively-cut suit. His fear stemmed from the fact that he also was the only person in the room who was not a combat veteran, nor had the look of one. He looked like exactly what he was—a planetary government career bureaucrat—and knew it. Like Deunan, he wondered why he was here. Oh, he _knew_, but wondered why he had been picked for this job, who he had angered to get it, and if he could get some sort of angle. After all, Johnson thought to himself, he didn't intend to stay a paper-pusher forever. Moreover, since the Sentinels didn't look to be departing Virentofta very soon, these people might one day be voting for him. It couldn't hurt to put on a good front.

He regarded them each in turn. Duenan was not worth worrying about: she represented the House Kurita government, which Johnson hated, and besides, she couldn't vote. The young man sitting at the table at Duenan's left, who Johnson had been introduced to earlier as Benjamin Darkwood, took off his glasses and wiped them on the edge of his uniform tunic. He wore the single chevron on red shoulderboards that indicated he was just a lowly MechWarrior.

The pale and freckled young man who was standing at the endtable, Jean-Bart Dunsien, was at least a Lance Commander, if Johnson read the rank right—there were two chevrons. Dunsien took a glass of juice from the woman next to him, who then offered one to Johnson with a smile. He smiled back nervously and waved it off. The woman wore a single diamond on her shoulderboards of purple, indicating high rank, but she also stood a good eight inches taller than he did, and Johnson was nearly six feet tall; because of her thin figure, she looked even taller. This must be Nicia Caii, the Sentinels' Master Tech: someone who might be good to know, but not, in Johnson's opinion, as important as MechWarriors. Besides, women who he had to look up to—literally—intimidated him.

Finally, Johnson settled on a towheaded man who had just come out of the bathroom. He also wore a single diamond on his rank tabs, but those tabs were MechWarrior red. He looked too young to be a Lieutenant Commander, but that single diamond meant that this young man commanded a battalion of mighty BattleMechs, enough power to level a city. He recognized the name on the nametape. "Michael Whelan, is it?" Johnson stuck out a hand as Whelan walked towards him.

Whelan nodded and shook the hand, but absently, his expression distant. Johnson decided not to take offense—such a man would have a lot on his mind—and pulled out some gum. Putting a stick into his mouth, he offered some to Whelan, which was politely refused. Johnson shrugged. "Damn, it's hot in here. Haven't you Sentinels ever heard of air conditioning?" As if summoned, there was a click and cool air began to flow into the room.

Dunsien finished his juice, poured more, and sat down at the table, two chairs down from Darkwood, who he knew only slightly; they served in different battalions. Between them sat Lieutenant Commander Rissa Rowley, whose fiery red hair and body of a high school cheerleader swiftly drew both men's attentions. Smiling to herself—Rowley was in her thirties and sometimes wondered if she still had it—she leaned back in the chair, balancing on two legs, and propped her feet on the table. "Six days! I can't believe this has lasted this long. Talk, talk, talk…" She fluttered her hands in imitation. "You ever hear so much talk about nothing?" This last was addressed to Dunsien.

Dunsien laughed nervously. He wore the patch of the Snowbirds; Rowley, Gamma Battalion. But he had heard stories about Rowley's temper. "Well…I guess they're entitled, ma'am."

"Yeah. Everyone gets a fair shake." She rolled her eyes. "Well, I guess there's no point in bitching about it."

Johnson had given up on Whelan, who was limiting his answers to "yes" and "no," and sat down next to the older man who once more blew his nose into a hankerchief. "Hey," Johnson said, sticking out his hand. "Sam Johnson."

"Wayne Sorensen." Sorensen wiped his nose, then half-smiled from beneath a full beard, black and peppered with gray. He wore the green tabs of a tank man and the triple chevrons of a Major. "I'd shake your hand, but I don't want to give you this shit."

"Summer cold?"

"A lulu. These things can kill you."

"And speaking of things that can kill you, what's your take on that kid's knife story? It's the phoniest thing I've ever heard."

Sorensen sighed. "Yeah. Well, you've got to expect that. Periphery trash, and a Snake to boot." That comment drew not only a glare from Deunan, but from another person who was just sitting down: Kahvi Falx. Both women were Kuritan by birth and in features: _Snake_ was a derisive term for Kuritan.

Duenan had suddenly had enough of the idle talk. "All right, people." She had been elected forewoman of this board of inquiry, and she was going to do her job. "Let's take our seats." Those still standing did as she ordered, with two exceptions. Duenan heard the toilet flush, so that accounted for Arthur Sterling. That left only the woman who had been staring out the window since she had walked in, hands clasped behind her back—one flesh, one metal. "Commander Arla-Vlata?" Duenan cleared her throat when there was no response. "_Commander?"_

"Huh?" Sheila Arla-Vlata turned around, startled, then saw everyone else seated. "Oh. Sorry." She sat down next to Johnson, leaving an empty chair between herself and Sorensen for Sterling. Across the table, her eyes met those of Senefa Malthus'. The former Clanswoman alone wore her formal uniform, complete with green imitation feathers and the three red daggerstars of a Clan Star Colonel, along with the single diamond of a Lieutenant Commander. Hands clasped before her, Malthus spared her commander and best friend a nod. Except for their different uniforms and hairstyles, Senefa and Sheila could easily pass for sisters, with the same green eyes and black hair.

"Tough to figure, _quiaff?_" Senefa turned at the Clan aphorism, which Sorensen had used deliberately to get her attention. "A Sentinel MechWarrior just up and kills his own father—a Virentofta official, no less! Only two weeks after being formally accepted into the regiment. Just like that, bam." Sorensen sighed again. "Well, I guess it's the element. The kids these days run wild, ah, _quiaff?"_

"I would not know," Malthus said icily. She did not know Sorensen—MechWarriors and tankers rarely mixed outside of duty, and her company of former Clan warriors had no time at all for them—but was acquiring a dislike for him already. "I do not have any children in my unit." Sorensen was confused, not sure if he had been insulted or not.

Duenan took a deep breath. She had to maintain control. "Is everyone here?"

"Major Sterling's still in the can." Nicia Caii had taken a position directly opposite from Duenan. The sun reflected from her bald pate.

Sterling at that moment came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a paper towel. He saw that everyone was staring at him and grinned self-consciously. "Whoops, sorry…late to the party." He quickly took the last seat. "My apologies, ladies and gentlemen. I didn't mean to keep you waiting."

"It's all right." Duenan had been raised to defer to age, and Sterling, over sixty, was the oldest person in the room. "Very well then, now that we're all here…for the record, I would remind you that this is a formal board of inquiry. This is not a court. We are merely to pass a recommendation, regarding murder in the first degree. We have all heard the evidence. Should the recommendation be that the accused is guilty, he will be stripped of his rank, be turned over to civil authorities, and tried in a Virentofta court. I would also remind this board that, should the accused be found guilty by Virentofta's court, the sentence for first-degree murder is death by hanging."

She let that sink in a moment, then continued. "That is the reason why Mr. Johnson is here." She motioned to the civilian, who smiled at everyone. "As the victim was a member of the Virentoftan government, and in that the crime took place off-based, by the contract the Sentinels have signed, Virentofta's government has the right to a representative on this board. As to why _I_ am here, again per terms of the contract, Virentofta is a member world of the Draconis Combine, whom the Sentinels are currently under contract to. I was made, for want of a better term, forewoman of this board because I am the closest thing to a disinterested third party available.

"Since the accused is a member of the Sentinels RCAT, he is entitled to a review by his peers of the evidence. That is why _you_ are here. Along with the commanding officer of the regiment—Commander Arla-Vlata—we have three Lieutenant Commanders-Mr. Whelan, Ms. Rowley, Ms. Falx, and Ms. Caii—and finally two Majors, Mr. Sorensen and Mr. Sterling; one Lance Commander, Mr. Dunsien, and one MechWarrior, Mr. Darkwood. So that the board cannot be accused of being unjustly weighted in favor of MechWarriors, which the accused is, Messrs. Sorensen and Sterling represent the Sentinels' tank and infantry units, Ms. Caii the techs, and myself the aerowing." She tapped the silver wings over her left breast. "As my rank is equal to Commander Arla-Vlata's, neither she nor I can 'pull rank' to gain the outcome that she or I wish."

With everyone's role established, Duenan looked around the room. "We may do this any way you wish to. I am not going to make any rules…I, ah, have never quite done anything like this before." Duenan privately reflected that she liked the way the DCMS did things better. There was an inquiry, followed by a court-martial, then sentencing, which usually was death, assuming the accused had not already committed ritual suicide due to being dishonored by a formal court. But with mercenaries and non-Kuritan heritage worlds like Virentofta, one always had to adapt to their ways. "If we want to further discuss the case, we may. Or we can vote right now."

"Let's vote now," Johnson said quickly. "Maybe we can all go home. I've got tickets to _Rubber Match_ tonight—I gotta be the only person on Virentofta who hasn't seen it yet."

"Yeah," Rowley agreed. "Let's see who's where."

"I agree," Sorensen added. "Vote now."

Duenan looked around. "Any objections?" There were none. "Then all those who wish to vote guilty, raise your hands."

Eight hands shot into the air rapidly, including Duenan's. Two more rose slower than the rest, leaving only Sterling and Sheila. As Duenan began to count, Sterling raised his hand as well. "Nine…ten…eleven. Eleven for guilty. _So ka._ Not guilty?" Sheila's hand rose. "One. Eleven to one, guilty."


	2. Weapons

**A MATTER OF JUSTICE**

_An Adaptation of _12 Angry Men_ for the Battletech Universe_

_By Sentinel 28A_

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Let's see if I can update every night with this baby._

_Bloodhype is not a drug mentioned in the Battletech universe—I got that one from Alan Dean Foster._

* * *

_Sentinel Headquarters Virentofta, Sancrist_

_Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

_26 June 3060_

_5:15 PM Terran Standard Time_

"_Someone's _in left field," Rowley muttered. She let the chair fall to all four legs, then leaned across the table at Sheila. "You think he's not guilty, Sheila?"

"I don't know, Rissa," Sheila replied quietly, looking at the table in front of her.

"I never saw a guiltier man in my life!" Rowley exclaimed. "You sat right there in that conference room and heard the same thing I did. The man's a killer, Sheila."

"He's nineteen," Sheila said by way of answer, looking up at Rowley.

"So? That's old enough. Hell, I was only…" Rowley stopped for a moment, suddenly realizing what she had almost said. She hurriedly glanced around the table. With the possible exception of Caii and almost certainly Johnson, everyone at the table had killed. She amended herself. "He's a murderer, Sheila Knifed his own _father._ Four inches into the chest. Innocent little nineteen year old." Rowley snorted, leaning back in her chair. "Yeah, right. They proved it a dozen different ways. You want me to list them?" Malthus' face darkened at Rowley's insubordination, but Rissa Rowley was known for her defiance of higher authority. Her superb battle record compensated for it.

"No," Sheila answered.

Sorensen now leaned forward, at Sheila's right. "You believe the kid?" he asked incredously.

"I don't know, Wayne."

Johnson beetled his eyebrows in confusion. "So why'd you vote not guilty, then?"

"There were eleven votes for guilty. It's not easy for me to raise my hand and send a boy off to die without talking about it first. Bad enough I send them to die in combat."

Johnson smiled nervously at that. "Well, who says it's easy for me?"

"Have you ever been put in that position, Mr. Johnson?"

Johnson looked away, not wanting to meet her eyes. "What's with the look, Commander? Just because I voted fast? I think he's guilty. You couldn't change my mind if we talked for a thousand years."

"I don't want to change your mind," Sheila said. "I just want to talk about this. Look…this kid's been kicked around all his life. He grew up in a slum. His mother died when he was nine of a bloodhype overdose. That's not a very good start. He's a tough, angry kid—but he's been trying to improve himself. He went to night school, he went to cram school, fought like a natural man to get into the Sentinels. He's got potential as a MechWarrior, where he can vent all that violent energy. I just think we owe him a few words, that's all." Sheila looked around the table. Some met her gaze angrily. Some turned away. Senefa regarded her dispassionately, her face unreadable. Nicia, as always, needed something to do with her hands, and had picked up a stylus and begun doodling on a notepad.

"With all due respect, Commander, I don't mind telling you this," Sorensen snarled. "We don't owe this kid a damned thing. He got a fair shake. The cops who arrested him could've just shot him. This inquiry is costing the regiment some cash—and since we're mercs, that's something we're always short of! He's lucky we even gave him a chance at all in this regiment. We're all grownups here. You're not going to tell us that we're supposed to believe him, knowing what he is. I've lived among his kind all my life, Commander. You can't believe a word they say. You know that." Sorensen was flushed with anger. Sheila's expression was one of barely suppressed rage.

But it was Sterling who replied. "I don't know that, Major. That's a terrible thing for someone to believe! Since when is dishonesty a group characteristic? What's all this talk of 'their kind'—"

"All right, Art, it's not Sunday. We don't need a sermon," Rowley interrupted coldly.

Sterling half rose from his chair. "Excuse me, Miss Rowley, but what this man has just said is very dangerous—" He subsided when Sheila quietly reached over and touched his arm. Sterling took a breath, calmed down, and sat down again.

Senefa spoke into the silence. "I do not see any need for arguing like this, _quiaff?_ I think we should be able to behave like officers, ladies and gentlemen."

"Right!" Johnson enthusiastically agreed.

Senefa shot him a freezing glare and continued. "If we are going to discuss this case, let us discuss the facts. Not our own opinions."

"That's a good point," Duenan said. "We've a job to do; let us endeavor to complete it."

Nicia rapped her knuckles on the table. "I have an idea," she said when everyone turned to her. "I'm thinking out loud here, but it seems to me that we need to convince Sheila here that we're right and she's wrong. Now I've known Sheila a long time, and she can be kinda stubborn, like the armor plates on an _Atlas_." The table shared a laugh at that, which broke a little of the tension. "Maybe we should each take a minute or two, try the case on for size…"

"That sounds fair enough," Duenan replied. "Suppose we go around the table then?"

"Let's do it," Johnson assented.

"Right." She turned to Dunsien, to her immediate left. "You're first, Dunsien-san."

"Oh." Dunsien colored red as suddenly all attention was on him. "Well, um…I just think he's guilty. I thought it was obvious. I mean, the kid stood there in the dock and didn't say a thing."

"He doesn't have to," Sheila said softly. "The defendant has the right to remain silent, under Virentofta and Common Terran law. He can't be forced to incriminate himself."

Dunsien wilted. "Well, sure, I know that, ma'am…I know that. I…er, what I mean is…I think he's guilty," he finished lamely.

Rowley jumped in. "Okay. Facts. I got 'em. Number one, let's take the old fart who lived on the second floor right underneath the room where the murder took place. At ten minutes after midnight, he hears loud noises from the upstairs apartment. He hears the kid say to his pops, 'I'm gonna kill you!' A second later, he hears a body hit the floor. The old dude runs to the door of his apartment, looks out, and sees the kid running down the inside stairs and out of the building. He calls the cops, and they find the father with a knife in his chest."

"And the coroner did fix the time of death at midnight," Duenan added.

"Yep. That settles it for me. What else do _you_ want, Sheila?"

Before Sheila could answer, Senefa spoke up. "The boy's entire story is flimsy. He claimed he went to see a holofilm. That is a little ridiculous, _quiaff?_ He could not even remember which holo he saw."

"That's right. You hear that?" Rowley grinned at Malthus. "You're absolutely right, Senefa."

"I take no pleasure in it, Rissa."

"Look," Sorensen put in, "what about the woman across the street? If her testimony don't prove it, then nothing does."

"That's right!" Nicia's eyes lit up in remembrance. "She saw the killing, didn't she?"

"In order," Duenan commanded.

"Just a minute, _Tai-sa._" Sorensen got up and began walking around the table, occasionally stopping to wipe his nose with his hankerchief. "Here's a woman who can't sleep. It's been hot, y'know. Anyway, she looks out the window, and right across the street she sees the kid stick the knife into his father. She's known this kid all her life; thinks he's a punk. His window is right opposite hers, across some maglev tracks, and she said she saw the kid do his father."

"Through the windows of a passing maglev train," Sheila said.

"Yes, ma'am. And they proved in court that you can look through the windows of a maglev at night and see what's happening on the opposite side." He raised a finger. "They _proved_ that."

Sheila looked up at him, a soft, humorless smile on her lips. "May I ask you something, Major?"

"Sure."

"Why did you believe her? She lives in the slums, so she's one of 'them,' too, right? Can't be trusted and all that?"

Sorensen's eyes were blazing. "I don't have to take that, Commander. Not even from you."

Duenan stood quickly, not liking where the situation was suddenly going. "Calm down, please."

"I don't have to take that!" Sorensen repeated hotly.

"Yeah, actually, you do," Rowley commented. "It's called 'chain of command,' Wayne." Sorensen _humpfed_ and returned to his seat.

So did Duenan. "Very well. MechWarrior Darkwood, it's your turn."

"I'll pass," Darkwood replied.

"That is your right. Lieutenant Commander Whelan?"

Whelan paused, and when he did speak, spoke carefully. "I was convinced with the testimony from the people across the hall. Didn't they say something about an argument between the father and the boy around seven that night? I recall something along those lines."

"I think it was eight, not seven," Caii corrected him.

"It was eight," Sheila confirmed. "They heard the father hit the boy twice, then the boy ran out of the house, angry. What does that prove?"

"It doesn't exactly prove anything," Whelan said defensively, "it's just part of the whole picture. I didn't say it proved anything." He rose and crossed over to the juice. Sheila regretted her tone of voice; Sorensen had made her angry, and she had not meant to take it out on Whelan, one of her most able commanders.

"Anything else?" Duenan called out after him.

"No, _Tai-sa._ I'm done," Whelan said with finality.

Duenan sighed. "All right, Johnson-san. What about you?"

"Beats me, _Tai-sa._ Most of it's been said already." He gave them his most winning smile. "We can talk all night about this, like I said, but we're wasting our time. Look at the kid's record. He's been in a few reform schools. Tried to steal a car, for the love of Freud! He was picked up for knife fighting—stabbed somebody in the arm. That's one fine MechWarrior you've got there, Commander."

Sheila gave him a look of utter disdain. "Ever since he was five his father beat him regularly." She looked directly at him. "He used his fists."

"So would I! A kid like that!" Johnson snapped back, but he couldn't meet her gaze.

"It's the damn kids." Sorensen crossed his arms over his chest. "The way they are, you know? They don't listen." He scratched at his beard; when he spoke again, it was with bitterness. "I've had two kids. My oldest was killed on Sudeten…" He took a deep breath and forced himself to go on. "My other boy, when he was eight years old, he ran away from a fight. I saw him. A Sorensen, running away from a fight! We got a pedigree as long as your arm, twenty generations of fighters. I told him right out, 'I'm gonna make a man out of you or bust you into pieces trying.' When he was fifteen, he punched me in the face and left. Haven't seen him in three years. Damn kid! You work your ass off…" He suddenly noticed the stares and turned red, embarrassed at having said too much. "All right, dammit. Never mind that. Let's keep going."

"We are missing the point here," Senefa said evenly. "This boy…aff, he is the product of a bad neighborhood and a broken home. We cannot help that. We are not here to go into the reasons why slums are breeding grounds for criminals, which they have been since time immemorial. The children who come out of that kind of background could be potential menaces to society—"

"You said it," Sorensen interrupted. "I don't want any part of any slum kid, believe me."

No one spoke for almost ten seconds, and to everyone's surprise, it was Darkwood who broke the silence. "I grew up in a slum," he said quietly.

"Oh, now come on!" Sorensen rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean—"

"I come from a broken home. I'm an orphan. I played in an alley filled with garbage," Darkwood continued, ignoring him. "Maybe it still smells on me, huh?"

Duenan saw trouble coming straight at her. "Now, Darkwood-san, please be reasonable. It is nothing personal—"

"There _is_ something personal!" Darkwood shouted, shooting to his feet. Abruptly remembering the fact that he was the most junior in rank, he took several deep breaths and sat down, fists clenched.

Rowley reached behind Senefa and patted his shoulder. "Come on, Ben. He didn't mean you. Let's not be so sensitive."

"I can understand such sensitivity." Kahvi Falx had said almost nothing to this point. Her soft voice seemed suddenly loud.

"Let's stop this…this bickering," Duenan ordered. She was losing control and she did not like it at all. "We're wasting time. Commander, it's your turn."

"_Arigato,_ Duenan-san." Sheila leaned forward, speaking with her hands. "I had a bad feeling about this trial. Somehow I felt as if there wasn't any real effort at establishing a defense for the accused. He was guilty until proven innocent, and no one seemed to really want to try. Too many questions were left unsaid."

"What about the ones that _were_ asked, Sheila?" Rowley snapped. "For instance, let's talk about that cute little gravity knife of his. You know, the one our fine upright paragon of society admitted buying?"

Sheila gave her a nod. "Okay, Rissa. Let's talk about it. Hell, let's get it in here and look at the damn thing. _Tai-sa,_ I'd like to see that knife."

Duenan looked confused for a moment, then got up and walked to the door. She knocked once. The lock instantly clicked and the door opened to admit the guard. Duenan leaned close and whispered; the guard gave a crisp salute and closed the door again. "Blake's Blood," Rowley said with exasperation. "We all know what it looks like. I don't know why we need to see it again. What do you think, Senefa?" She turned to the Clanswoman.

"Sheila has the right to see exhibits in evidence," Senefa replied simply.

Rowley paused, expecting more. When there was none, she shrugged. "Whatever."

Senefa ignored her and leaned across to Sheila. "This knife is indeed a very strong piece of evidence, _quiaff,_ Sheila?"

"Aff, Senefa."

"The boy did admit to going out of his house at eight after being slapped by his father."

"Or punched."

"Or punched," Senefa conceded. "He said that he had gone to a pawnshop and bought a gravity knife; he did not say whether it was before or after the argument. The storekeeper admitted he had sold the knife, identified it, and said it was one of a kind. Why did the defendant buy the knife, especially if it was _after_ the argument? As a present for a friend of his." Senefa's smile turned sarcastic. "Please, Sheila, this is strange."

"It's peculiar, all right."

"Damn skip," Rowley added. She pointed to Senefa. "Everybody listen up. Senefa may be a Clanner, but she knows what she's talking about."

"_Thank_ you for reminding everyone about my origins, Miss Rowley," Senefa said with steel in her voice. "Returning to the case, the boy claimed on the way home the knife had fallen through a hole in his pocket and he never saw it again. Now that is quite the interesting tale, _quiaff?_

"We know what actually happened. The defendant took the knife home and a few hours later stabbed his father to death with it. Very efficiently, I would add. He even remembered to wipe off his fingerprints."

The door clicked open, and the guard walked in with an oddly designed knife in gloved hands, an evidence tag attached to it. Senefa took a pair of black gloves from her belt and tugged them on, taking the knife from the guard with a polite nod. The guard saluted and left, again locking the door behind her. Senefa held the knife up the light, examining it critically. "Everyone connected with the case identified the knife. Sheila, you are not trying to tell me that someone picked it up off the street, then stabbed the defendant's father merely to be amusing?"

Sheila shook her head. "No, Senefa; of course not. I'm saying it's possible that the boy did lose the knife, and that someone stabbed his father with a similar type. It's _possible."_

"Possible, aff. But not likely. The odds are quite high against it." Senefa spun the knife in her hands and rammed it into the table, the sharp edge sinking into the polished pinewood top. "The blade is common enough: a dagger-type with a five-inch blade. Most MechWarriors and pilots carry a similar knife to cut away a parachute or as a last line of defense. It is the hilt, however, that makes this knife different."

Senefa ran her hands over the hilt design, which showed a snarling grizzly bear. "The carvings are crafted by hand—by a laser, yes, but one operated by a human, not a machine. I am no expert on carvings, but I know weaponry quite well, and I have never seen this type of hilt design—not even with Clan Ghost Bear, who might be expected to use such a motif. Neither had the storekeeper who sold it to the boy." She glanced at Sheila with a smile. "My friend, are you not trying to make us accept a remarkable coincidence?"

"I'm not trying to make anyone accept it, Senefa. I'm just saying it's possible." Unnoticed, Sheila casually reached into a pants pocket with her right hand.

Rowley shot to her feet and slammed her hands down on the table. "Goddamn it, Sheila, it's _not_ possible!"

Sheila's right hand moved in a blur, jamming a knife into the table between Rowley's fingers. It happened so quickly Rowley didn't have time to react more than a gasp. Stunned silence reigned the room, but it was not so much from Sheila's sudden action.

The two knives were identical.


	3. Probabilities

**A MATTER OF JUSTICE**

_An Adaptation of _12 Angry Men_ for the Battletech Universe_

_By Sentinel 28A_

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Updating again, three for three. Rogue, thanks as always for the review. It's a little different, yeah. (Where's the rest of you people?)_

_

* * *

_

_Sentinels Headquarters Virentofta, Sancrist_

_Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

_26 June 3060_

_5:30 PM Terran Standard Time_

"What…what are you trying to do?" Rowley asked in a stunned, small voice. The knife had missed her index finger by perhaps a quarter of an inch.

"What the hell, Commander?" Sorensen exploded. "Good God!"

"Look at it!" Darkwood shouted. "It's the same knife!"

Senefa bent down to study Sheila's knife with interest, having jumped just a fraction herself, and regarded her friend. "Where did you get it?"

"Pawnshop on the river, two blocks from the boy's apartment complex. Seems there's a fellow there who works knife hilts with a rebuilt industrial laser; he specializes in customizing military knives. He's very good, and allows his knives to be sold only in local shops. It cost me eight C-bills." Sheila smiled slightly as she took her seat. "The storekeeper gave our boy a discount of five C-bills and pocketed the change. That's kind of screwing the hiltmaker."

Rowley had looked at her hand to make sure she hadn't been cut. There was little love lost between Sheila Arla-Vlata and Rissa Rowley; they were not friends, only commander and subordinate. Rowley wondered to herself if Sheila would have overly minded if the knife had "accidentally" perforated her hand. She looked at Sheila's metal hand and shuddered. The momentary breach of her façade infuriated her. "You pulled a real smart trick there, Sheila. Nice job of flanking me. But you've proved absolutely zero. Maybe there are ten knives like that—so what?"

Sheila's smile became predatory. "Maybe there are."

Rowley realized she had walked directly into a trap and swore silently. "The boy lied and you know it."

"I don't know it, Rissa. That's sort of my point." Noticing that Sorensen was purpling with rage, she turned to him. "Major Sorensen, do you think he lied?"

"Now _that's_ a stupid question, Commander," Sorensen snarled back. "Sure he lied!"

"Senefa?"

Malthus nodded. "Aff, Sheila, I believe the boy lied."

Sheila noticed Darkwood regarding her strangely. "What do you think, Ben?" Her voice was neutral now.

"I…" Darkwood stammered, not liking the eyes on him. "I…don't know, ma'am."

Johnson regarded the ceiling. "Oh, for God's sake. Are you the bastard's lawyer, Miss Arla-Vlata? Listen. There's eleven of us who thinks he lied about the knife and he's guilty. You're alone, Commander. What do think you're going to accomplish? If we can't come to a decision tonight, they'll just convene another board—and they'll find him guilty, sure as hell." Johnson made a mental note to make sure he would not be on that board. He glanced at the wall chrono.

Sheila shrugged tiredly. "You're probably right, Mr. Johnson."

"So what are you gonna do about it, Commander? We're gonna be here all night!"

"It's only one night," Sterling said. "It's a life we're candidly discussing." The mention of what was at stake silenced the room. Johnson stared at Sterling, but this time the older man did not turn away. Then pandemonium broke out as everyone tried to talk at once.

"Well, who's fault is that?" Rowley snapped.

"Do you think maybe we could go over it again?" Whelan saw that Duenan was pale with shock and anger, and tried to help. "What I mean is—"

He was overriden by Sorensen. "Do anyone force this kid to kill his dad?" He shared Rowley's expression of exasperation. "What kind of outfit are we? Like someone forced him!"

"Perhaps this isn't the point," Falx said, but no one heard her.

"No one forced anyone, dammit," Darkwood snapped at Sorensen, rank forgotten. "Listen, you—"

Caii threw down her pencil, appalled at the chaos. "Great Sun, people, we can screw around all night here—"

"Well, _I_ was going to say—" Dunsien began, finally finding his voice.

"Just a minute," Johnson said loudly, fending off Dunsien with an upraised left hand and pointing at Sheila with his right. "Some of us have got better things to do that sit around—"

"That is _enough!"_ Duenan shouted. The talking ceased. She shook her head in frustration; there was no controlling this bunch, it was like controlling a dogfight. "We cannot even understand each other! Don't talk all at once."

Rowley dropped back in her chair and spitted Sheila on a glare. "Well, Sheila, you're the one holding up progress. What do you want to do?"

Sheila slowly got to her feet and folded her arms across her chest. "All right. That's fair. I _am_ the one holding up things, so let's try this. I call for a vote. You eleven vote by secret ballot. I'll stay out of it. If there are still eleven votes for guilty, I'll change my vote too. We'll render a recommendation of guilty. How's that?"

"Sounds good to me," Johnson said, putting another stick of gum in his mouth. He had swallowed the other in the excitement.

"It sounds fair," Duenan agreed. "No objections, then?" There were none. Duenan gathered up the strips of paper she had torn up earlier and passed the out. Sheila walked away from the table and took up a position at the window. The sun was inching towards the mountains, and the sky had turned a spectacular dark blue. Outside it was a very pleasant summer evening. She turned around to watch the table, crossing one foot in front of the other. The elven scribbled on the makeshift ballots and, one by one, handed them to Duenan. It was completely silent as Duenan counted them.

Duenan began to read the verdicts. "Guilty…guilty…guilty…guilty…guilty…guilty…guilty…guilty…guilty…" She paused. "Not guilty…"

"God_dammit!"_ Rowley smashed a fist down on the table. The last ballot had also read guilty, but no one heard that.

"Who was it?" Sorensen growled. "We've got a right to know!"

Falx shook her head vehemently, causing the four braids of her hair to go across her face. "_Sumimasen._ This was a secret ballot, yes? If the person wants to remain secret—"

Rowley stood up, her chair nearly overturning on the carpet. "What the hell, Kahvi? There's no secrets in here! Besides, I know _exactly_ who it was." She whirled on Darkwood. "What's the matter with you, Darkwood? I remember when you joined the regiment last year. You used to be a member of Lohengrin, for fuck's sake. That's a kickass group. You come in here and vote guilty, and then someone starts tearing out your heart with her stories about this poor little kid who just couldn't help but become a murderer. So you change your vote, you little coward—"

"That is quite _enough!"_ Duenan barked.

"The hell it is!" Rowley shot back. "We're trying to put a guilty bastard at the end of a noose where he belongs, and all of a sudden it's Fairy Tale Day at Camp Bleeding Heart!"

Darkwood was now on his feet. "With all due respect, Lieutenant Commander—"

"Please, stop!" Falx pleaded, hands in front of her. "I would like to say something here!" Rowley and Darkwood quieted, still staring daggers at each other. "I have always thought that someone was entitled to have unpopular opinons in this regiment, yes? That is why I have remained with the Sentinels, because we believe in such ideals. That is what we have fought for—"

"Oh God," Sorensen grumped, "now we've got to wave the flag around."

"Yeah. That stuff's all well and good, Miss Falx, but come on," Johnson added. "I want to ask you, MechWarrior Darkwood. What made you change your mind? You'd better have a damn good answer."

Darkwood turned to face Johnson, fists crumpling into balls. Had there not been a table between them, and a room full of much higher ranked officers, he might have punched Johnson in the face. He opened his mouth, but it was Sterling who spoke. "He's got nothing to tell you. Mr. Darkwood didn't change his vote. I did."

"Well, that's just awesome," Rowley hissed.

"Lieutenant Commander, sit down." Duenan got her voice under control, so the order was firm and even. Rowley obeyed. "The vote is now ten to two. Major Sterling has the floor."

"Thank you, _Tai-sa._" Sterling pointed at Sheila, still standing silently at the window. "This woman chose to stand alone against us. It takes a great deal of courage to stand alone. She gambled just now for support, and I gave it to her. I want to hear more."

"Fine," Sorensen sighed. "Let's just get on with it."

Duenan reached out and tugged the murder weapon from the table with some effort, leaving the other one embedded there. She then walked over to the door, knocked, and handed the knife to the guard, figuring it was best to keep as many sharp objects out of reach as possible. At the table, Rowley took a deep breath, let it out, and turned to Darkwood. "Look…um…I got a little excited. You know how I get. I didn't mean to get nasty…" She was turning red with embarrassment. Normally she would not have apologized, but there might come a day when Darkwood would be covering her back in a battle. Some people held grudges, and Darkwood piloted an 85-ton _Gunslinger._ Plus he was ex-Lohengrin. Some people it paid not to make angry. "Nothing personal," she smiled weakly at him. Darkwood gave her a sharp, angry nod.

Sheila resumed her seat at the same time Duenan did. Johnson pounced on the Sentinels' commander. "Look, answer me this, Miss Arla-Vlata. If this kid didn't kill his dad, who did?"

She spread her hands. "I don't know, Mr. Johnson. We're supposed to decide whether or not the defendant on trial is guilty, not anyone else's motives."

"Guilty _beyond_ reasonable doubt," Sterling said, putting emphasis on the second word. "This is very important."

"Hmpf. Everyone's a lawyer," Rowley grumbled. "Suppose you explain what your 'reasonable doubt' is, Major Sterling."

"Well…" Sterling massaged his face. "It's not that easy to explain, Miss Rowley. So far, it's just a gut feeling."

"A feeling!" exclaimed Sorensen. "A feeling! What are we gonna do now—spend all night discussing feelings?"

"Look," Rowley said, in a tone of voice as if she was speaking to a very slow child, "the old man downstairs heard the kid yell, 'I'm gonna kill you.' A second later, he heard a body falling and saw the boy running out of the house fifteen seconds after that."

"That's right," Caii added. "And the woman across the maglev tracks saw the boy kill his father through the windows. She _saw _it. Now if that's not enough for you, I don't know what is."

"It's not enough for me, Nicia," Sheila answered.

Johnson threw up his hands. "Deity, is she like this during a war? It's like talking to ferrocrete!"

"The woman saw the killing through the windows of a maglev train. The train had five cars, and she saw it through the window of the last two. She emphasized that." Senefa steepled her fingers in thought. "Strange…she remembered the most insignficant details."

"Well, Sheila?" demanded Rowley.

"Something doesn't seem right about that," Sheila said.

Sorensen noticed Caii was now sketching on her notepad a maglev train. "Can I see your stylus?" Caii handed it to him, and Sorensen took the notepad as well. He drew a tic-tac-toe square, put an X in the center square, and began to push it back to the tech. "Your turn. Might as well pass the time."

Sheila's right hand suddenly shot across the table and snatched up the notepad. "This isn't a game, Major!"

Sorensen shot to his feet, pushed beyond his limit. So did Sheila. Johnson told them to take it easy. "Take it easy?" Sorensen exploded. "I don't care if you _are_ the regimental commander, Arla-Vlata! No one pulls that shit with me! Court-martial me if you like, but I oughta belt you one!"

"Take your best shot," Sheila invited. "You'll be picking your teeth out of the floor." She was behaving badly and knew it, but she was tired of Sorensen's attitude.

"Oh, frackencrack." Duenan covered her eyes. "Please, no fighting."

"Stand down, Major." Whelan walked over to stand behind Sorensen.

"'This isn't a game.' Shit." Sorensen allowed Whelan to gently push him back into his seat. "Nobody talks to me like that."

Sheila fought off the urge to slam his head into the table. She had heard talk of Sorensen behind a hard man to work for, but had generally ignored them for the same reason she ignored Rowley's insubordination: both warriors got results. Now she wondered if she should've looked into it more, that it wasn't just idle gossip and grousing. She was furious, but now with herself as well. She began to crumple up the paper in anger, but then noticed the drawing. It was very well-detailed, as could be expected from a master tech. Sheila handed the notepad back to Caii. "Nicia, how long does it take a maglev train going at top speed to reach a given point?"

"Hmm." Caii closed her eyes and calculated. "I'd say ten to twelve seconds."

"Sounds like a good guess." Sheila looked around. "Would everyone agree with that? Ten seconds?"

"Ten seconds sounds about right," Dunsien agreed.

"What are you getting at, Sheila?" Caii asked, a little annoyed at being put on the spot.

"This," Sheila replied, excited. "Okay, a maglev train passes a given point in ten seconds. That given point is the window of the room where the killing took place. We all saw the holo: you can almost reach out and touch the train from the windows. Anyone here ever live next to a maglev line?" No one had. "I did, when I lived in the dorms at the Nagelring. I used to get woken up every weekend at 2 AM by the express coming back from the city. We called it the Drunk Train. Anyway, if you have the window open and a train goes by, you can't hear yourself think."

"So what's your point?" Sorensen snapped.

"The old man heard the boy say, 'I'm going to kill you,' and one second later he hears a body fall. Right?"

"Right!" Dunsien said, his voice higher than usual. Sheila's excitement was infectious.

"And the woman across the street looked through the windows of the last two cars of the maglev and saw the body fall. Like Senefa said, she emphasized it: the _last two cars."_

Now even Sorensen was drawn in, despite himself. "Okay. What then?"

"Okay—we agree that a maglev train takes ten seconds to pass a given point, or two seconds per car. The maglev had to be going by the old man's window for at least six seconds, maybe more, before the body fell, according to what the woman across the rails saw. Which means the old man would have had to hear the boy say 'I'm going to kill you' while the maglev was roaring by virtually past his nose!"

Caii looked stunned. "Holy poop. He _couldn't_ have heard it."

"What?" Rowley exclaimed. "That's crazy! Of course he could've heard it!"

"Could he, Rissa?" Sheila asked.

"The old fart said the boy yelled it at the top of his lungs. That's good enough for me."

"I don't think he could've heard it," Sterling countered.

"Not with the maglev," Dunsien agreed.

"What are you talking about?" Rowley was horrified. "You're calling the old dude a liar? Why would he lie? He's got nothing to gain!"

"Attention, perhaps," Sterling returned.

Rowley rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, right. You've been sniffing hovertank exhaust too long, Sterling."

"Knock it off, Rissa." Sheila turned to Sterling. "But she does have a point, Art. Why _would_ the old man lie?"

Sterling shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, and was silent for a long few seconds. "It's just that…I looked at him for a long time. He wore a very old jacket—a very well-made jacket for its time, but one that had seams missing and was faded. He walked with two canes. I think I know this old fellow better than you young people," Sterling smiled softly. "This is a normally quiet man, who's been insignificant all his life. He's not like us. He doesn't have medals, or his name in the newsholos. Nobody really knows him after eighty years…that's sad. To be questioned, finally listened to, noticed—just once, to be quoted."

Caii's eyes were distant for a moment. "Arthur, I understand what you're saying, but..are you trying to say that the old one lied about a thing like this just so he could feel important, just this once?"

"Not lie per se, Nicia. He wouldn't deliberately lie," Sterling responded, shaking his head, "but perhaps he could make himself _believe_ that he had heard the boy shout those words."

Rowley laughed derisively. "That's got to be the most fantastic story I've ever heard, Sterling. How could you make that up? What do _you_ know about it?"

"I speak from experience, young lady." Sterling said it with the weight of his years behind him. Caii nodded. The room once more went silent. The MechWarriors and fighter pilot in the room realized that it was they who had always made the headlines, they who got the medals and the glory. Scout hovertank commanders like Sterling rarely did; main battle tank commanders like Sorensen rarely did; techs like Caii never did.

Rowley broke the silence, though her voice was subdued. "I still say the old bas…the old man could have heard it."

"Okay, for fairness' sake, let's say he did," Sheila said. Rowley's head came up; she hadn't been expecting that. "How many times have we said something like that ourselves? Probably hundreds of times. Like 'Dammit, MechWarrior, if you do that again I'm going to kill you,' or 'Come on, you Dolphins, kill the QB!' We say it all the time, but this doesn't mean that we're actually going to kill that MechWarrior, or want the 'Fins to slay the other team."

"Wait a second," Rowley protested. "The boy shouted, "I'm going to kill you.' He didn't say, 'Dammit, Dad, I'm gonna kill you.' He spelled it out at the top of his lungs: 'I am going to kill you!' Nobody says that unless they mean it."

"And how," Sorensen sighed.

"That's true," Sheila conceded, "but Rissa, come on. If the kid had already made up his mind to kill his father, like you say, do you think he would actually scream it out loud where everyone could hear it? I don't think so. The boy may have come from a rough spot, but he's not stupid. Give him that, at least."

"Not stupid? Ha!" Waco snorted. "He's a little ignorant punk. He don't even speak good English."

"That should be 'he _does not_ speak good English," Falx corrected. Sorensen's eyes widened at her. Falx's English, despite having been in the Sentinels for eight years, was still heavily accented, and her tendency towards botching English idioms and phrases was a running joke in the regiment. To have the butt of that joke correct him was bad enough. That she was entirely right made it worse.

"I'd like to change my vote to not guilty," Darkwood suddenly said.


	4. Seconds

__

**A MATTER OF JUSTICE**

_An Adaptation of _12 Angry Men_ for the Battletech Universe_

_By Sentinel 28A_

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Short and sweet tonight, because it's Christmas Eve and I have presents to wrap. Hopefully I can update over the next two days._

* * *

_Sentinels Headquarters Virentofta, Sancrist_

_Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

_26 June 3060_

_5:45 PM Terran Standard Time_

Rowley stood and walked to the window, visibly trying to control herself. "You're sure?" Duenan asked.

"Very," Darkwood replied firmly.

"Right. The vote is now nine to three, in favor of guilty."

Johnson let out a short, bitter laugh. "Well, that tears it." He shook his head at Darkwood. "You're changing your vote because of some story? I hear Sheila's husband is an aspiring novelist—that must be where she gets her ideas. The kid had a frickin' defense counsel—why didn't the counsel bring up all this?"

"Yeah, sure," Darkwood said. "A counsel…appointed by the regiment because the kid couldn't afford his own. The counsel acted like he had better things to do." The last was thrown like a dagger at Johnson.

He either didn't understand he was being insulted or ignored it. "Please. All right, fine—the old guy didn't hear the kid. But he heard a body falling. He got out of bed, ran to the door, and saw the kid beat feet downstairs fifteen seconds after the dad gets kacked—but I suppose he made all of that up, too, just too feel important."

"_Did_ the old man say he ran to the door?" Darkwood questioned.

"Ran. Walked. What's the difference? He got there."

"I don't remember, actually," Darkwood admitted. "But like Major Sterling said, he had to use two canes to walk. I don't see how he could run anywhere."

Senefa spoke up. She was getting a little frustrated. She understood Sheila's commitment to her people, wanting to make absolutely sure justice was done, but this seemed to go a little far. "The old one said that he went from his bedroom to the front door. Is that not enough?"

"How far away from his bedroom was the front door? I don't remember," Sheila said. "Duenan-san, can we see the apartment diagram again?"

"Why don't we just run the inquiry over again so you can get things straight?" Johnson snapped.

"Why don't you just shut up?" Duenan hissed back as she walked to the door and knocked. She had a whispered conversation with the guard, who nodded and left.

"Now what's all this for?" Rowley asked Sheila, fists on her hips. "How come you're the only one who's constantly harping on exhibits?"

"I want to see this too," Darkwood insisted.

"And _I_ want to stop wasting time!" Rowley began to pace.

Senefa rested her head on one hand. "Sheila," she said tiredly, "if we're going to start wading through all the forensic evidence of where the body was found, even I may find it difficult to keep my patience."

Sheila smiled at that. "No, no…we're not going to that, Senefa. I want to find out how a man who's had two strokes and who walks with a pair of canes could get from his bedroom to his front door in fifteen seconds."

"Twenty seconds," Rowley corrected.

"Fifteen." Dunsien said it firmly, surprising them all. "He was very insistent about it being exactly fifteen seconds."

Rowley held up her hands and laughed. "Please…he's an old man. You saw him. Half the time he was confused. How could he be positive about…anything…" She winced, realizing her own trap had just snapped shut around her. Rowley glanced around, wondering if anyone had caught the slip. From their expressions, the entire table had.

The guard had returned with a small holoviewer. Duenan set it on the table as the door was shut once more, and switched it on. A clearly labeled diagram of the apartment sprang to life in three-dimensional red and blue. All the table leaned forward, except for Johnson, who did just the opposite. "Wake me when it's over," he groaned to Sorensen.

Sheila rotated the diagram. "Okay. Here's the apartment where the killing took place; the old man's apartment is beneath it and identical. Here's the maglev tracks. Here's the stairway to the top apartment, and the hallway to the front door. Now the old fella was in bed in his room, and he says he got up, went to his front door and opened it, and looked out just in time to see the boy racing down the stairs. Right so far? Fifteen seconds after he heard the body fall." There was a chorus of nods. "So his bed is at the window. It's…" she pressed buttons on the holoviewer, which obiediently tagged distances in meters and feet. "It's six feet from the bed to his bedroom door, and twenty-five feet to the door. So he had to get up, grab his canes, walk six feet, open the bedroom door, walk twenty-five feet, and open his front door, all in fifteen seconds. Is that possible?" Sheila left it an open question.

"Sure, it's possible," Sorensen said.

"I don't know," Sterling stated. "He can walk only very slowly. They had to help him into the witness chair."

"Thirty-one feet isn't a long walk," Rowley said.

"Not for us, Miss Rowley. Most of us—" Sterling couldn't help but sidelong glance at Johnson, who was putting on a big show of not caring "—are combat veterans and thus in good shape."

Sheila walked around the table, grabbed two chairs, and set them together. "Now what?" Rowley asked incredously.

"Let's see how long it took him. I'm going to pace off six feet—the length of the bedroom." Sheila began doing so.

"That's crazy, Sheila. You can't recreate something like that!"

Sheila smiled aggravatingly at Rowley. "What's the problem? According to you, it'll only take fifteen seconds. Senefa, hand me that chair, please." Senefa picked it up and set it down where Sheila pointed. "That's the bedroom door. Mike, you're probably the best here at math. How far is it from here to the door of the room?"

Whelan considered it. He had started out in artillery, where math was literally a matter of life and death. "About eleven feet."

"Sounds good. So that's…twenty-two feet from here to the door and back. Well, it'll have to do." Sheila lay down on the two chairs, though she had to rest her feet atop one of the backs of the chairs due to her height. "Mimi Stykkis walks with canes like the old man, so I know how they're used. Anyone got a chrono?"

"I do," Dunsien answered, raising his arm.

"When you want me to start, stomp your foot. That'll be the body falling. Time me from there. We'll say he keeps his canes right by his bed. Got it?"

"Got it!" Dunsien was getting into the scene. He set his chrono to stopwatch function. The room was quiet, broken by a soft beep, and Dunsien stamped his foot loudly. Sheila got up, swinging her legs over the edge of the ciars, reached for imaginary canes, and got to her feet. Hobbling as she had seen her friend Mimi doing it, she walked slowly to the chair simulating the bedroom door. She then pantomined opening it and moved into an imaginary living room.

"Faster, Commander; the old guy walked twice as fast as that!" Sorenson called out.

"I think this is actually faster than the old one," Falx disagreed.

"I'll speed up some." Sheila moved a little faster. She walked to the actual door of the room, spun around, and hobbled back to the "door" chair. Again, she acted as if she was opening it. "Mark."

"Mark," Dunsien confirmed. "Time, thirty-one seconds." He held up his chrono for everyone to see. Sheila leaned against the chairs. "My guess is that the old man was _trying_ to get to the door, heard someone running down the stairs, and just assumed it was the kid."

Whelan nodded. "That's certainly possible—even more so when you figure the distance in here was shorter and Sheila was moving faster."

Rowley threw up her hands disgustedly. "He assumed. Yeah, right. Blake's Blood, Sheila, that's a damn masterpiece." She whirled on Senefa. "God, Malthus, she's your best friend, right? Tell her, or hit her!" Not waiting for an answer, Rowley stalked over to Sheila. "You are something, you know that? You make up these wild-ass stories, and you've managed to convince these soft-hearted—more like soft-_headed_—old ladies that you're onto something. Well, you're _not!"_ She turned and faced the table. "What is wrong with you? This kid is guilty as sin! He's got to swing! We're letting him slip through our fingers here!"

"_Our_ fingers, Rissa?" Sheila asked. "I wasn't aware you planned on tying the noose."

"I'd do it in a New Avalon second!"

Sheila shook her head. "How about the trapdoor? Would you pull that out from under the boy too?"

"You're damned right I would!"

Sheila stepped forward so they were nearly face-to-face. "I believe you, Rissa. You'd like to stand there and watch the guy choke to death or hear his neck snap."

Rowley's face turned red. "Don't start with me, Sheila. You may outrank me, but I don't care!"

"Your mother wasn't like this. Lexi Rowley—"

"Shut up!" Rowley shouted. Everyone was on their feet now.

"—wasn't a sadist," Sheila finished.

"I said, shut up!"

Sheila's teeth were bared. "You don't care about the facts of this case. You just want to play executioner. It's the power rush. You _want_ this, Rissa—your mind was made up the moment you heard about the case. You _volunteered_ for this board!"

Rowley was pushed beyond the edge. "_SHUT UP!"_ she screamed, and lunged at Sheila, hands outstretched for the other woman's throat. Duenan, with a curse, shot forward and caught one arm, while Darkwood grabbed the other. Senefa's hand flashed to her belt, withdrawing a metal cylinder. A thumb of a switch later, and she held a six-foot steel staff. She dropped it across Rowley's chest, pulling her back. "Let me go, dammit!" Rowley shrilled, spittle flying from her mouth. "I'll kill her! _I'll kill her!"_

Sheila had not moved. Now she smiled thinly. "Rissa," she said gently, "Do you _really_ mean that you'll kill me?"

Rowley abruptly froze, her mouth opening in shock at Sheila's words.


	5. Executioner

**A MATTER OF JUSTICE**

_An Adaptation of _12 Angry Men_ for the Battletech Universe_

_By Sentinel 28A_

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry about the delay in getting a new chapter up, but Christmas wiped me out pretty good. Let's try and get this back on track._

_I've decided not to translate Kahvi's Japanese insults. Suffice to say, they're not something you'd want to repeat in mixed company in Japan. Also, Sheila is probably a little too good to be true in this story, but so is Juror Eight in the original. Somebody's gotta be the hero(ine)…_

_There's also a brief callback here to _Snowbird's Battalion,_ though you don't have to have read that to read this._

_REVIEWER'S CORNER: Finally get to do one of these._

_Mosin: You should check out the original movie of the play (either the classic one with Henry Fonda or the remake with George C. Scott). I thought it would make a neat adaptation. Thanks for the review, as always._

_Rogue: It doesn't come up in this story too much, but I had it in the back of my mind that Rowley is Sheila's rival for command of the Sentinels. Sheila wasn't the only one to gain a name for herself in the Clan War, and not everyone thinks Sheila's the stuff. Since everyone has a flaw (in _12 Angry Men_ the flaws are dialed up to eleven), Rowley's is that she's sadistic. She likes to see people she hates burn. She doesn't _hate_ Sheila, but she thinks that maybe someone could do a better job running the regiment._

* * *

_Sentinels Headquarters Virentofta, Sancrist_

_Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

_26 June 3060_

_6:00 PM TST_

The door clicked open and the guard stuck her head in, one hand on her pistol. "What's going on in here?" she demanded. "I heard someone yell something about killing!" Rowley slumped over Senefa's staff; her words alone would mean court-martial charges, and trying to strangle the commander of one's regiment pretty much guaranteed the end of her career, along with her life.

Sheila turned around. "No, nothing's wrong, Corporal. We were just…recreating the scene of the murder. Nothing to worry about. You can go about your duties." The guard clearly didn't believe it, but had an order. She nodded and closed the door. Sheila returned to Rowley. "You didn't answer my question, Rissa."

Rowley was looking at the floor. "No…no, of course not." Senefa removed the staff, Darkwood and Duenan letting go as well. "I'm…sorry, Sheila. I just…"

"Lost it?" Sheila walked past her, not resisting the urge to be insufferably cool-headed. She admitted to herself that she was glad Senefa and the others had reacted as quickly; she hadn't expected Rowley to melt down. Nor had she known that the tempestous battalion commander was also sadistic. "It happens. Sit." Rowley knew an order when she heard it and obeyed. Senefa, watching her, only resumed her seat after she was certain Rowley was no longer a threat, collapsing the staff.

"Buddha have mercy." Duenan collapsed into her chair. "We're all civilized here! There's no reason for this."

"I must agree." Falx folded her hands on the table to control their shaking. "We have a responsibility here, and should not mess things up, yes? This is a remarkable thing, what we do." She smiled. "I did not volunteer. I was notaried—"

"Notified," Sorensen corrected with a savage smile, getting a little of his own back.

"_Hai,_ notified. I was asked to come to this place and decide on the guilt of a man I have not met nor served with as of yet. We have nothing to gain or lose in this ourselves. This is one of the reasons why we are strong, why the Sentinels are strong. This is a thing to be proud of—not made so personal, yes?"

Caii set down her stylus. She alone had not stood up during the confrontation. "That's true, Kahvi, but we're still stuck. Anyone got ideas?"

"We could try another vote," Whelan suggested.

"All right. Any objections?" Duenan half-expected someone to do so and then attack her. She had served with the Sentinels for four years, but she had never seen anything like this. Had these been Kurita officers, blood would have been spilled.

"I want an open ballot," Rowley said tightly. "I want to know who stands where."

"Any objections?" Duenan repeated. "Right, then. Raise your hands for guilty." Senefa, Duenan, Rowley, Johnson, Sorensen and Caii raised their hands. "Not guilty?" Dunsien, Darkwood, Whelan, Sterling, Falx, and Sheila raised theirs. "Six to six, then."

"I'll say this," Sorensen growled. "The real crime's being committed right here."

"Roger that," Rowley agreed. "I'm ready to just throw in the towel. Get another bunch in here and let the kid take his chances with _them."_

"I'll go for that," Johnson chimed in. "Let's take it back to the tribunal and call it a day."

"You don't think there's room for reasonable doubt, then," Darkwood said.

"Nope."

"Excuse me, Johnson-san," Falx addressed him. "Perhaps you don't understand the term 'reasonable doubt'?" It was a genuine question.

Johnson stared at her and sniffed a laugh. "What do you mean, do I understand it? Of course I understand it! I'm a politician, lady. I understand a hell of a lot more than you." He rolled his eyes. "Where the hell did _you_ come from, anyway? Geez! Falx isn't even your real name, I bet. That's not exactly a Japanese name, is it?" Falx turned away at that: Johnson was right. Her real name had been Kimiko Matsushima, before she had changed it. Exiled from her family for daring to be a MechWarrior, she had decided to fight under a _nom de guerre_, an assumed name, to protect her family's name from the dishonor of going mercenary. Johnson nodded. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You Sentinels come in here and before you can even catch your breath you're telling us how to run the show."

"Watch it, mister. No one's asking where you came from," Darkwood warned darkly.

"I come from right here on Virentofta, MechWarrior," Johnson said with pride.

"How about your father? Or your father's father? Wasn't Virentofta settled by refugees fleeing House Kurita back before the Star League?" Darkwood asked. Now it was Johnson who turned away. "You know, maybe it wouldn't hurt to take a few tips from people who come looking for a second chance. Maybe they've learned things we don't know. And I'll wager, mister, that Lieutenant Commander Falx has learned a _hell_ of a lot in her life."

Falx put up her hands. "Please, MechWarrior Darkwood…I thank you, but this is not worth it. It is all right."

"It's _not_ all right!" Darkwood exclaimed, half-rising from his seat.

Johnson saw the hatred in Darkwood's eyes and wondered if the next person to be assaulted would be him. Unlike Sheila, there was no one in the room who was likely to defend him. Rowley had mentioned that Darkwood had been a member of Lohengrin, and Johnson had heard nasty rumors about the Lyran Alliance's governmental killers. "Okay, okay, take it easy. I apologize. That okay? I'm sorry, Miss Falx. That what you want?"

"Yes, that'll do for starters." Darkwood was still angry, but sat back down.

Duenan was now considering what unit she should apply for a transfer to. The Sentinels, it seemed, when enemies were lacking, would start wars among themselves. "Now that we've solved that problem, I would, for once, like to hear something constructive."

Dunsien raised his hand hesitantly. "Well…something's been bothering me. This whole business about the stab wound. The angle and all that."

"Oh God," Rowley groaned. "Not all _that_ again."

For once, Dunsien refused to be cowed. "No, really. It doesn't make any sense. Okay, the kid's about, what, five foot five? His father was about six feet. I don't know anything about knife fighting, but I would think it was pretty awkward to stab _down_ into the chest of someone taller than you."

"Fine. I'll show you." Rowley reached out and, with some effort, pulled the knife from the table. "Somebody stand up. Somebody tall." Nicia began to get up. "No, not you. You're _too_ tall." Rowley was about five foot seven; her head barely reached Nicia's chest. "Somebody else." To her surprise, it was Sheila. Rowley nodded in satisfaction; Sheila was right at six feet. Rowley walked over to Sheila. "Now watch, Dunsien. I don't want to have to do this again." She squatted down until she was level with Sheila's navel. "That about right?"

"If you were going to headbutt me in the stomach," Sheila remarked. "That's about five feet zero."

"So what. It'll just make my point more visible." Rowley raised the knife, made sure she had a good grip on the snarling grizzly hilt and held it high, blade pointed at Sheila's heart. The two women's eyes met. Rowley smiled ironically and stabbed downward.

"Holy shit, look out!" Dunsien shouted. Senefa's chair overturned, her hand going back to her staff, and Sheila took a step back. The blade stopped, though, two inches from Sheila's left breast. Rowley chuckled.

"That's not funny," Whelan breathed.

"Put the knife down, Miss Rowley," Duenan snapped.

Rowley rose to her full height. "Take it easy, you idiots. Like I would stab my commanding officer. Nobody's hurt." She ran her fingers down the blade and pointed to where the knife would've entered Sheila's flesh. "There's your angle. Down and in. That's how I'd stab someone taller than me, like an Elemental or something. Now take a look and tell me I'm wrong about _that._"

Dunsien said nothing as Rowley withdrew the knife and set it on the table. "Down and in," Whelan remarked. "I guess there's no room for argument there."

Sheila reached out and took the knife. She tried an experimental downward stab. "Mike, have you ever stabbed someone?"

"No, Commander."

"Rissa?"

Rowley's smile remained and she shook her head. "Let's not be silly, Sheila." She was feeling a little vindicated now.

"Have you?" Sheila repeated, with an edge this time.

Rowley's smile faded. "_No,_ Sheila, I haven't."

"So where did you get your info on how to stab somebody?"

"It's common sense!"

"Okay. Have you ever seen someone stabbed?"

Rowley took a deep breath. "No, I haven't. Have you?" she demanded.

"Yes." Sheila fought back the imagine of the first man she had ever killed outside of a 'Mech, the Elemental that had been trying to strangle her to death on Planting. Sheila had stabbed him in the neck and watched the man die literally right before her eyes. She shuddered at the memory, which still gave her nightmares. "But it was a different situation, and the person who did the stabbing…well, she wasn't an experienced knife fighter. But according to his record, the defendant is." She stabbed downwards again. "It just seems awfully awkward to me, though I'll admit my hand-to-hand experience is mostly with staves." She glanced at Senefa, who smiled ruefully. Sheila changed the position of the knife around to hold it underhanded, and made a short thrust at the air. "This seems easier."

Darkwood snapped his fingers. "Of course. What's wrong with me?" He stood and motioned to Sheila. "May I see that, Commander?"

Sheila handed it to him. "You've seen a knife fight?"

"Commander, I've participated in a few. Granted, it was in practice, but in Lohengrin, we had to know how to use a knife." He obviously didn't want to mention why. "Senefa, would you mind standing up? I just feel kinda awkward doing this to the commander…"

Senefa nodded and stood. She was probably the most experienced hand-to-hand fighter in the room, next to Sheila, but like her friend she too had only used the staff. Darkwood walked behind her and gently put his hand on her mouth, turning her head to the left. "Excuse me, ma'am." He drew the blade slowly in the air a good four inches from Senefa's throat, to the right. "Now that's how we were trained to do it in Lohengrin…"

Falx had gone pale. "That's great, but the dad didn't get his throat slashed," Rowley said.

"Right, sorry. I just wanted to demonstrate that I know what I'm talking about." Johnson audibly swallowed, wondering if the demonstration was meant for him. "Sorry, ma'am." He circled around to her front. "Now if I had to kill someone from the front, who was taller than me, I'd do it like this." Darkwood and Senefa were about the same height, but he crouched down some, and moved the blade upwards towards the underside of Senefa's left breast. "See, we were told this was the best if you had to kill someone from the front with a knife. The blade goes straight in the abdominal cavity and into the heart. The person bleeds out and is dead in seconds. The only time you stab downwards is in a slasher holo, or if the person is a _lot_ smaller than you, or on the ground."

"But you've got elite training," Sorensen protested.

Darkwood nodded. "That's true, sir, but my trainer was an ex-street hood, a gang enforcer. Guns on Tharkad are very restricted, because it's the capital of the Lyran Alliance, as you know. So the local gangs had to get real good with improvised weapons, or knives. They recruited him _because_ he knew how to fight dirty, like you do on the streets…or in the slums. Besides…" He reversed the knife to an overhand grip, and stabbed downwards at Senefa's heart. Senefa, reacting instinctively, grabbed Darkwood's wrist with her left hand, turned away from the blade, and brought her right hand up in an open strike, had she not stopped herself just in time. Darkwood grinned at her as she let go. "An overhand strike is too easy to stop, even for an amateur. But if I stab upwards, from the belly, that's harder to stop. Thank you, ma'am," Darkwood said to Senefa.

"So what's all this mean?" Caii asked.

"It means—to me, anyway—two things. One, the kid didn't stab his father overhand into the chest because of the kid's experience and his height. Second, the father was taken by surprise." Darkwood spread his hands a little sheepishly. "But I'm not a forensic scientist."

"The father wouldn't have been taken by surprise with his son yelling in his face that he was going to kill him," Sheila added.

"I don't believe it," Rowley said.

"Me neither," Sorensen agreed. "I'll admit that's interesting, MechWarrior, but like I said, you've got specforce training. The kid might be experienced, but he's not Lohengrin."

Caii opened her mouth, then shut it. At Sheila's questioning glance, she gave a half-shrug. "I…I just don't know," she explained.

Johnson snorted. "Well, _I_ do. I'm sick of the whole thing. Let's break it up and go home. I'm hungry. I'm changing my vote to not guilty."

"You _what?"_ Rowley exclaimed.

"You heard me. I've had enough of this crap."

"That's no answer!"

"I agree!" Rowley turned in shock to see Falx, timid Kahvi Falx, on her feet, fists balled, her face suffused with rage. "What kind of sick man are you, Mr. Johnson? You have sat here and voted guilty with everyone else because there are some holomovie tickets burning a hole in your pocket. Now you have changed your vote for the same reason, no? I do not think you have the right to play games with a man's life, you…you…" Falx was so angry she was struggling for words. _"Teme konoyaro!"_ she finally shouted. _"Kutabare!"_

Johnson was taken aback. "Now you just wait a minute—"

"_Iye! _I will not! If you wish to vote not guilty, then do so because you are _convinced_ he is not guilty! If you believe he is guilty, then vote that way! Or don't you have the…have the…_konjo nashi!"_

"What the hell does that mean?"

Duenan fought back a smile. "She just accused you of having no testicles."

Falx threw Duenan a quick confirming nod. "Is it guilty or not guilty? _Decide!"_ The last was snapped as an order.

Johnson shrank back from the sudden terror. "I told you—he's…he's not guilty."

"Why?" she demanded.

"I don't have to—"

"You do! Say it! Why?"

Johnson looked helplessly to Sheila, who returned his look with a placid one. She was not about to rein in her enraged subordinate. Neither, it appeared, was anyone else. "I don't…I don't think…he's not guilty. The evidence. I mean, what we've seen…"

Sheila turned to regard Falx, but she had already sat down, not looking at Johnson, muttering in Japanese to herself but satisfied at last with the answer. "I'd like another vote, Duenan-san."

"Yes, another vote sounds like a _wonderful_ idea," Duenan replied. "Show of hands. Not guilty?" Dunsien, Darkwood, Whelan, Johnson, Sterling, Falx, and Sheila all raised their hands, followed quickly by Duenan herself and then, more slowly, Caii. "Nine, not guilty. Guilty?" Rowley, Sorensen, and Senefa raised theirs. "Nine to three, in favor of not guilty."


	6. Endgame

**A MATTER OF JUSTICE**

_An Adaptation of _12 Angry Men_ for the Battletech Universe_

_By Sentinel 28A_

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Finally done! Sorry it took so long. Now to get back on _Choosers of the Slain. _Hope you liked this story._

* * *

_Sentinels Headquarters Virentofta, Sancrist_

_Virentofta, Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

_26 June 3060_

_6 PM_

Sorensen looked around, astounded. "I don't understand this! How can you believe this little shit is innocent? Look, you know how these people lie! You know their kind! I don't have to tell you that. They don't even know how to tell the truth in those slums!"

"I don't have to listen to this," Darkwood snarled, got up, and went to the window, turning his back on Sorensen.

Sorensen didn't even pause. "They don't need a big reason to kill each other, either. You know, they get drunk and then bang, someone's lying in the gutter with their brains on the street. Nobody cares! That's how they are! You know what I mean? Violent as hell!" Sterling, shaking his head, got up as well, followed by Falx, turning their backs on him. "Where are you going? Listen to me! They're fighting and drinking all the time, or using drugs, and they don't care." Now Sheila walked away, as had Caii and even Johnson.

"Okay…okay, look," Sorensen stammered, "I've known a few who were all right. I'm the first to say that. But they're the exceptions. It's like they have no feelings—now where are you going, _Tai-sa?_" Duenan had left the table. "I can speak my piece too—you let everyone else do it! They're no good. Not one of them! We'd better watch out—take this kid on trial! We let him back in the regiment, he'll just kill someone else! He doesn't care!" Sorensen slammed his fists on the table. Rowley reached out and drew the knife out of his reach, toying with it and not looking at him. Senefa got up and began to walk around the table. "Dammit, I'm trying to tell you…something…" His voice trailed off as he noticed Senefa stop next to him. Wayne Sorensen feared little, but the cold hatred in Senefa's eyes frightened him like nothing ever had before.

"I have had enough of you," Senefa said quietly but firmly, all the more terrifying because she was not yelling. "The venom you spew is disgusting. If you open your mouth again with this trash, I will kill you. And make no mistake, Major Sorensen, I mean every word of what I say." Sorensen was very pale now. He remembered that Clanfolk did not engage in hyperbole. Nor did they make idle threats.

"I was just trying to say—"

"I said be quiet." Sorensen instantly complied. Senefa visibly fought for control of herself. "Can we return to the table now?"

When everyone had, Senefa circled the table again, back to her own chair, gripping the back of it. "I still believe the defendant is guilty," she began. "I will tell you why. The most damning evidence was given by the woman across the maglev tracks who claimed to have actually witnessed the murder being committed."

"Let's go over it, then. What did she say?" Sheila asked.

"As I recall, she said that she went to bed at eleven o'clock that night. Her bed was next to her window, and she could look directly into the apartment where the murder was committed. She tossed and turned for over an hour, unable to sleep. Finally, she turned towards the window at 12:10 AM—she was quite certain of the time—and saw the defendant stab his father. And as we agreed before tonight, one can see through maglev line windows as they pass by. Finally, it was confimed that the maglev was right on time. This is unshakable testimony."

"Couldn't agree more," Rowley added. Darkwood sighed, took off his glasses, and wiped them on his uniform tunic. "Should've brought this up earlier." Rowley threw Darkwood a poisonous glare.

"I do not see how you can vote for acquittal, given this evidence," Senefa concluded.

Darkwood squinted at the clock. "I hate to interrupt the train of thought, no pun intended…but what time is it? I can't see the clock."

"A little after six," Nicia answered helpfully.

"Wow, it's getting late. I've got the duty at seven tonight." He looked at Duenan. "No way to postpone this, is there?"

"No, MechWarrior. You'll have to call for a replacement. This by law takes precedence. Am I correct, Commander?" Sheila nodded in confirmation.

"Excuse me," Whelan asked Darkwood, "can you see clearly without your glasses?"

Darkwood laughed. "Not clearly at all! My eyes went bad—that was one of the reasons I had to leave Lohengrin. Why do you ask?"

"It just occurred to me, actually…let me ask you another question. What do you do when you wake up at night and want to know what time it is?"

Darkwood shrugged. "I grab my glasses and put them on. I have to lean really close to the clock to see it. Otherwise it's just a red blur."

"So you don't wear your glasses to bed."

"I don't know of anyone who wears their glasses to bed."

"Where are you going with this?" Nicia wanted to know.

"I was just thinking," Whelan explained. "The woman who saw the killing? _She_ wears glasses."

"Big whoop, so does my grandma," Rowley snapped. "So does Sheila's hubby. For that matter, so does Sheila—reading glasses. So what?"

"Max, me and your grandmother aren't murder witnesses," Sheila replied.

Duenan raised a finger. "Did she wear glasses, the witness?"

"She did wear glasses!" Falx recalled excitedly. "Yes, I remember quite clearly. They were rather thick."

"Bifocals, to be exact," Sterling added. "She kept staring at me for some reason. They were bifocals, and Miss Falx is correct, they were quite thick, and she never took them off."

Darkwood replaced his own glasses on his nose. "You know, I never thought of that."

Sheila rubbed the metal knuckles of her left hand in thought. "Darkwood's right; my husband doesn't wear his glasses to bed either. The woman testified that she had rolled over in the middle of her tossing and turning and looked out the window. The murder took place and she saw it through the last two cars of the passing maglev. We established it took four seconds for those cars to pass. She said that the lights went out immediately after the maglev passed. She _couldn't_ have had time to put on her glasses and look, not in four or five seconds, especially if she was half-asleep. I'm not disputing that she saw someone kill the father…but I _am_ disputing that she saw the boy. She might've just assumed, like the old man downstairs."

"How far was it across the maglev lines?" Senefa asked Nicia.

"Thirty meters. About eighty feet."

"How the hell do you know what she saw, Sheila?" Rowley said harshly. "Maybe she's farsighted." She glanced around the table. No one supported her. She shook her head in wonderment. "How the hell does Sheila know all this?"

"I don't," Sheila returned. "But neither does anyone else."

"What we call 'reasonable doubt,'" Falx smiled triumphantly.

Sheila turned to Sorensen. He sat silent, his hands in his lap. He didn't look at her, only shook his head slowly. He was defeated. Now everyone turned to Rowley.

"He's guilty," she answered the unasked question. "Right, Senefa?"

"Negative." Senefa sat down. "I am convinced. There is reasonable doubt."

"But…" Rowley frantically looked around the table. "What are you all looking at? What do you want?"

"Your arguments," Duenan stated.

"I gave you my arguments!"

"We're not convinced."

"Take all the time you need," Sheila said lightly. "We'll wait."

Rowley put her hand on Senefa's. "Senefa! You've got to stay with me on this! A guilty man is gonna walk! You want him in the regiment? You want someone covering your back—a murderer on your six?"

"I am sorry, Rissa. There is reasonable doubt," Senefa repeated.

Rowley whirled on Sheila. "Quit staring at me! You're not going to intimidate me, Commander Sheila Allegra Arla-Vlata! I have the right!"

"You're right. You do," Sheila answered.

"You're alone," Darkwood pointed out.

Rowley almost spat at him. "So the fuck what."

"It takes a lot of courage to stand alone," Sterling said quietly.

Rowley was on her feet, hands on the table. Her mouth opened, then closed. They were waiting for her arguments, but Rissa Rowley had none. Her face contorted, almost in tears; unable to face them, she fixed her eyes on the table. It was silent for a long minute. Finally, she spoke. "All right, dammit. All right. Not guilty then. But I still say we're going to all get bitten on the ass for this." She looked up at Sheila. "What if you're wrong?"

"I might be," Sheila admitted. "But what if _we're_ right? I'm willing to take those odds."

Rowley turned her back on them, walking to the window, arms around her body as if to reassure herself. Duenan took one last glance around the table, rose, and walked to the door, knocking on it. The guard opened it. "We're done," was all she said.

"Very good, ma'am," the guard replied. She came to attention, held open the door and Duenan, with one look over her shoulder, walked out. The others did as well, slowly. All of them exchanged something with Sheila as they did so. Some showed approval. Some showed anger. Some showed simple defeat. All showed respect. Senefa bowed her head slightly, which Sheila returned, close friends.

Finally, only Sheila and Rowley were left. Rowley left the window, picked up the knife, and held it hidden from the guard, walking up to Sheila. She stopped only inches away. The knife was held in the now accepted underhand position, pointing at Sheila's stomach. The two faced each other. Then Rowley, with a long sigh and a wry smile, flipped the knife around and handed it to Sheila hilt-first. There would be repercussions from this room, but for now, Rowley accepted that she had lost, and walked out. Sheila snapped the knife shut and put it in her pocket.

"Are you finished, Commander?" the guard asked from the door.

"Yes," Sheila replied. "Quite so."

She turned off the lights and left the room in darkness.


End file.
